


Hands

by ActuallyAndroid



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Injury, Princess - Freeform, Reader Insert, Unrequited, Unrequited Love, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-11 06:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyAndroid/pseuds/ActuallyAndroid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wanted to be there. To feel the dread when the enemy came marching into view as a thin line of black and brown along the horizon. To look at you from the side, and have a brave face ready in case you needed one to help you put on yours."<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes

You had been out again for the entire day, and to say it hadn't bothered him would be somewhat of straight up lie.

He had known why you insisted on going to every little battle with your army even if he had never brought the subject up. The spike of motivation it brought to the soldiers you were on the front lines with was insane, and it meant you could be there to come up with tactics on the spot, as well as to fire them out with almost no delay that would have been otherwise brought about if you had sat a mile behind the action, using a messenger to send out the commands.

Today, he had wished to confront you, however.  
As much as he could keep his distaste for you being on the front lines to himself, he was unwilling to accept the fact that he was to stay back and 'look after the castle' along with the other petty servants while you were out in the midst of battle, baring your neck for the enemy archers.

He wanted to be there. To feel the dread when the enemy came marching into view as a thin line of black and brown along the horizon. To look at you from the side, and have a brave face ready in the case you needed one to help you put on yours.  
To be the one to look out for you, when you were busy looking out for the rest of the army.

The majority of his frustration came from the fact that although he felt he was skilled enough to provide you with protection, his only job included serving food to the soldier's tents after all the action, while you were waiting around for him to finish so you could sit and eat, placating his worried curiosity with diluted stories of what had occurred in the battle, as if the fresh grit and danger would not be something he could handle.

Something it wasn't his place to handle.

When serving the food, Jakob would circle around to your seat first as a form of habit for a while. His lessons had told him the royalty was to eat first after all, and he was not hard pressed to break the rules lest he be punished for his misconduct.  
But you had not liked that.  
“Serve me last.” You would say every time, until he stopped responding with antagonism, and after every battle, would automatically bring food to the soldier’s tables first.  
“Help me serve them.” You would say until he would only look at you briefly for confirmation before handing you the plates.

He found you a fantastic princess, the best one perhaps that this country had ever seen since the beginning of recorded history. When he took to reminding you of this periodically, you would always respond with the following words, recited as if a script was nestled into your head, ready to be opened up for reading with not even a crumple of paper: “the most loyal and brave people deserve only the best princess they can have,” until he stopped being surprised by your seemingly inherent kindness.

In his humble opinion, your people would not deserve such a leader if they spent every second of their lives thanking the Gods above for your existence, but he would have never let such a thought escape the cage of his lips.

He reminded himself today was the day he would confront you about his wishes. Of course, you were returning from battle and otherwise, he would have convinced himself today would be a bad time, but you were either always taking care of the civilians in your vicinity or out battling the opposition miles away from him. The days when you were tired and beaten from the stress and physical demands of war were the days you relied on him the most, and therefore spent the most time alone with him.

He waiting just outside the looming, black castle gates and impatiently fiddling with the rims of his gloves as he scoured where the path fell behind the hills, praying that you would be leading the army home the same way you did every time you went out to battle.

“You know Jakob, if you get any more desperate for the poor girl's company you're going to end up blowing your platonic servant cover.” A raspy voice spoke from behind him, and without turning, Jakob could tell it belonged to Gunter. The old man had enjoyed jabbing at Jakob's confidence, because as an old and seasoned knight that believed in old fashioned values such as humility, he thought Jakob had a surplus.

“There is no cover, you feeble old man.” Jakob replied, ceasing the little fiddles and nips at his gloves that his fingers were occupying themselves with. 

“I am honoured to be her servant and have never wished for anything more.”

There was a short pause, wherein Jakob never took his eyes off of the edge of the hill, and Gunter never took his eyes off Jakob's face. The butler's expression was straight and his posture impeccable; Gunter had not even found a pink tinge dusting the man's nose and yet…  
He knew that the feelings Jakob harboured for the princess were not made up of only respect and admiration. It was as clear to him as it was to the butler himself.

Jakob cleared his throat.  
“If your only intention of coming here was to pester me and my good intentions, I strongly suggest you leave and entertain yourself with activities that suit your age more, like bingo… or dying.”  
Gunter chuckled and stared ahead at the sky beyond the hill.

“I came here for the same reason you did.” As he spoke, dark shapes appeared over the curve of the hill, and Jakob's mouth turned upwards in relief. He could not see any familiar faces yet, but the simple fact your army was coming home meant you were likely to be among them.

“I'm here to see the princess come home.”

Jakob was no longer paying attention.  
He was staring intently at the mass of armour and weapons on the horizon, still vaguely worried you might not be among them. As a butler, he was told to patiently wait at the gates, but if it was within his station to do so, he would be running towards the group, frantically looking around for your familiar features. Once he'd find you, he'd grapple his arms around your waist and pull you down from your horse and into his chest, peppering your forehead with kisses until you knew you were his.

No. He could not entertain those thoughts.

He heard the earth being trampled under the immense weight of the war horses, all walking together in a line, and with worry he found he could not see you leading the trot.  
Gunter also appeared to be concerned, and his wrinkles creased into a troubled frown.

It was only a few seconds later (when the mass of spears and horses took on colour and shape) that he could make out your limp body resting on the back of a tired soldier he did not know the name of.

Staying put, he watched as your bruises and burns came into view. He winced because he knew that even with the help of healers, some of them were sure to leave scars. The soldier you were sharing a horse with increased his trot to a canter until he pulled his horse to a halt in front of the gates. You tried to leisurely get off the horse but found you couldn't stop yourself from grimacing as your burnt legs brushed against its rough coat. 

“There was an ambush.” The soldier spoke, gesturing for Jakob and Gunter to help you get off your horse.

Jakob rushed to your side, examining your burns for intensity. Your left leg had been completely seared, and your hip was bleeding through your armour, staining it a deep crimson.  
Taking the armour off was not going to be easy on your skin.

“How many casualties?” Gunter asked, very aware Jakob was busying himself by fretting over your wounds.  
“About a fifth of the scouting team. Not anyone from the higher ranks as far as I know.” The soldier looked towards you with concern.  
“However, there would have certainly been more if our dear princess had not taken the blow for so many of them.”  
Following his words, the soldier bowed fleetingly. 

“The army is grateful.”

Briefly, you thanked Jakob for helping you get off the horse, but nevertheless, the butler was fuming. If it was not the fact your ears would not wish to hear such slurs, he would have told the man that careless soldiers who could not even ensure the princess's safety did not deserve her loyalty, dedication, or the clean skin shaven off her thighs because of her injuries.

As it stood, he merely glared at the soldier with the most intensity he could muster.

“Jakob, sorry but could you help me walk to the infirmary?” You mumbled, and Jakob was already at your hip, letting you place your arms around his shoulders and use him as a crutch.  
“Of course Lady Corrin.”  
“Thank you.” You muttered, letting Jakob take on all of your weight. 

You turned to face the soldier, who – along with Gunter – was watching you stumble away.  
“Apologise to the army for me Cyrus; I'm pained that so many soldiers had to die under my command,” your cracked voice uttered. For a second you were worried the soldier did not hear you but found relief when he nodded to show appreciation.  
“We are all thankful for the lives you did save, Lady Corrin.” He spoke, offering you a salute which you could only return with a smile because your arms were lacerated.


	2. Legs

Gunter had waited patiently until you and Jakob were out of earshot before striking conversation again. Cyrus was staring - worry embedded into his features as if he were decades older. The wind changed directions, and strands of Gunter's hair were blown into his face.

“Don't worry about the butler, Cyrus." He spoke. "As long as his dear Lady Corrin is there to stop him from getting into trouble, his bark is worse than his bite.”  
The soldier chuckled and turned in his seat to get off his horse. Absent-mindedly, he stroked the animal's mane and ran his leather clad fingers down its coat.

“Suppose I should look after her more then.”  
Cyrus took hold of the horse's bridle and started walking towards the stables, when he heard the stomping of horse hooves come closer into earshot.

“And how of your plans to woo the princess?”

Cyrus stopped suddenly and the horse complied, bending down to graze on the courtyard grass. The boy stared ahead woefully to see two small figures that belonged to you and Jakob walking into the infirmary, where he hoped clerics and priests were waiting on command to sort out your injuries.

“Long since forgotten about them. I feel like I've lost a long while ago.” He said, and turned briefly towards the face of the older man, who also seemed to be caught up in his thoughts. 

“Besides, these are times of war. There are more important things to worry about.”

With the word said, Cyrus pat the shoulder of the horse, and carried on towards the stone stable on the other end of the courtyard.

Your groaned in pain and grit your teeth as two female priests undressed you from your armour. The burns on your skin clung to the cloth, and your underclothes had to be painfully peeled off from your torso.  
Jakob attempted to help in whatever ways he felt he could, hurriedly handing the healers ointments and bottles of liquid that were so potent in stench he could only wrinkle his nose.

“Be gentler you scum.” He seethed when the hands of a blonde healer were a little too rough on your skin for his liking.

“Jakob.” 

With the help of your voice, the butler suddenly remembered his manners and straightened his face into a conceding scowl.  
“I- I apologise Lady Corrin.” He yielded, taking a step away from you and the healer. 

More soldiers had now come under the infirmary roof, and he found that the stuffy and urgent tightness in the air was making him tense and uneasy.  
“I am only a concerned servant. Please, healers, pay me no mind.” 

What he had expected was that you would come home to a hearty dinner, after which you'd excuse yourself to your own room and he could come in, sombre in tone and wanting to discuss his own personal desires.  
Of course, due to his stand as your butler, they would never be anything more than gentle persuasions, but the fact he had not even had a chance to put them forward still pissed him off, and greatly.

The majority of your cuts and grazes had disappeared now, and only a few shallow slashes here and there were present on your arms. Your left thigh, however, was a different story.  
The burn was still blackened and charred in some spots, despite the fact the redness had gone down to a light pink, and there was no more blood. Some cleric had hurriedly said you'd always be a little numb in the area, before wrapping it with another layer of bandages.

“Jakob, has the meal been prepared?” You asked, stifling a moan as you sat up on the bed, against the recommendations of the healers.  
“Yes, but nobody had wanted to start until the names of the fallen had been recorded.”  
“I imagine Gunter is currently in charge of that.”  
“I believe he's finishing up.”  
“Very well.” You heaved a sigh and pushed yourself off the bed, falling neatly onto your feet. 

“You've done another great job here, healers. I assure your work is duly noted and appreciated.”  
The healers in subject nodded apprehensively towards your legs, looking for any sign of stumble or imbalance that would mean they should rush towards you and take you under their wing again. 

They found nothing, and instead were forced to resume looking after the other soldiers, only a few of which had suffered injuries as severe as yours were, even after healing.

“Where do you plan on going to lady Corrin?” The butler asked.  
He seemed a little restless to come to your side and hold your weight for you again, but he saw no weakness in your resolve that wasn't the burns on your thighs, and they did not beg for his help like the trip of your foot would.  
“Back to my own room; I don't wish to take up any bed space that could be used for our soldiers,” your words came out smooth and without falter. 

He found that your resolve frustrated him; it was not something he could remotely even influence, with the little power that the butler title gave him.

“May I at least walk you to your room?” He asked, and if a question could be forceful, then this one was.  
You had not even turned around when you answered him, but he assumed it was because your sides were not well enough to give you the flexibility.  
He turned back around into the medical tent, to see the doctors still staring at you, judging you for how well you seemed to be so they could report it to the other doctors, or their little medical books, or the soldiers waiting patiently on news on how their beloved leader was doing.

“I suppose it would cause no harm.”  
You stared straight ahead, your face blank from emotion.

He continued walking with you until you were both out of earshot, and then a little bit further until your bodies were far away from the worried eyes of soldiers, and the only company was of the rose bushes that clambered up the castle walls towards the sky. The path you walked was gently weathered, and spokes of grass poked from beneath the stepping stones your feet were resting on.

There was a breeze as you pace slowed significantly, and Jakob wondered why the steady rhythm of your feet on the ground had eased off.

“Jakob.”  
“Yes?” He asked. Once he was parallel with you, his eyes turned towards you slightly, to find your face was flushed and almost sweaty.  
“Please- help me walk the rest of the way.”  
He did not have time to push the phrase “of course” past his stutters when you fell into his arms.

What little was left of the walk to your room filled silences with the steady rhythm of his feet and awkward contact, of him holding you like a man would hold his woman, as opposed to a butler holding his master. Every step was unbearable, and every bump insisted on bringing your curled body closer into his chest, and into the scent of lavender that was permanently laced into his clothes as if it was part of the thread.

His attempts to steel his face were betrayed by the red painting his cheeks.

'There is nothing out of place here. She can't walk and you are helping her,” was only a mantra. With the way his fingers were longingly attached to your skin, wishing the context around them could be sacrificed so that he would have more privacy when running his pads over your goosebumps, he knew there was no way he would remember this with platonic intent. He was taking you to your room after you fainted in his arms, and the only problem he had with it consisted of his own emotions and nothing else.

He was a poor butler, but perhaps as long as you did not know, things wouldn't have to change.

Once he was in your room, he carefully edged the door open with his shoulders, until it creaked aside to let him through. Gently, he placed your form upon the mattress and watched as your body sank into the fabric.  
Your eyes fluttered open as he was picking up his pensive and wanting gazes and slowly stepping out of the room.

“Jakob.”

His back was turned to you when you called out his name. He stilled his steps.  
“Yes, lady Corrin?” Jakob inquired, as if he didn't know what you were going to ask for.  
“Please stay.” You muttered.  
He took a deep breath.  
“Of course.”


	3. Faces

“Could you just, pull the curtains closed Jakob?”

He obliged.

Swiftly, the view to the garden was closed – and the room dimmed in a grim, reclusive way.  
He thought the light might have done you some good, but he understood that you might not have wanted any soldiers who happened to be passing by to look in by accident.

Now, it was just the two of you.

“Anything else, Lady Corrin?”

“Just, sit down beside me is all I ask. Make sure no-one else comes in.”

“Of course.”

He'd done as was asked of him, and the bedsheets craned under his weight when he sat at the edge of the mattress.

“Thank you, Jakob.”

“There is no need.”

As not to make you uncomfortable or restless, he himself turned away – but he made sure to sneak a couple of concerned glances every so often, to assure himself that you were still breathing and that your rest was just that. Temporary.

Once he was sure you'd fallen asleep, he'd walked around your room – cleaning the odd thing here and there, dusting an ornament that wasn't really dusty, and reorganising vase angles to make sure they showcased the best sides of the flowers inside them.

It was enough to take his mind off his welling frustration, at least until he ran out of things to do.

Another hour perhaps passed, where all he had to think about was how annoyed he was at all of the soldiers you lead for not protecting you properly, and how annoyed he was at you for letting yourself get to the state you were in.  
He'd brewed in this stew of irritation for so long that when you finally stirred and your eyes opened to see him - the best he could muster was a somewhat lopsided smile in your direction.

Gently, you sighed and stretched – curling around the blanket that was wrapped loosely around you. You felt it brush against your bandages, but took no note of their existence otherwise.

“Thank you for staying.” Your voice was drawled, lazy, and barely comprehensible. You were sure that had Jakob been a stranger, he might have had to ask you to repeat your words.

“Naturally,” he answered, but that wasn't it.

“Still, Lady Corrin – perhaps you'd indulge in a slightly longer rest? By lunchtime, I'd fetch Felicia to deliver your food from the mess hall so you wouldn't go hungry.”

“No, that's quite alright. I need to be there to serve the soldiers anyway.”

“Do you feel well enough to go?”  
He was sceptical at best, and completely mistrusting realistically.

“I feel much better after that rest. I assure you, your concern in unnecessary.” 

You'd already started slide out from your bed.

Jakob watched you in complete distaste, head reeling a million thoughts a minute on how he could possibly make you stay – until he remembered that he still had an issue to settle with you. It took a deep breath before he could force his voice to speak.

“In that case, Lady Corrin, before you go I have something I'd like to discuss.”

You nodded gently, your head still foggy from the nap.

“I suppose I still have a few minutes.” It took a moment of shuffling before you readjusted yourself on your bed, and pat the space beside you. Awkwardly, Jakob sat down beside you again.

“It concerns my current position as a butler and someone who's responsibility it is to look after you every moment that it is in my power to do so. Recently, I have felt that there is something that is holding me back from completing these duties to the best of my ability.”

“What are you building up to Jakob?”

You shared eye contact for with him for a second. He wasn't sure if it made him more or less nervous when passing out his next sentence, but it sure as hell made him feel something – and his voice almost wavered when he tried to speak.

“I wish to go out to into battle with you, Lady Corrin.”

“Oh, Jakob,” you groaned, sitting back in bed – till your back was flush against the pillows. 

You were expecting this, and there was a hasty urge pulling him into defending his point, but he remained silent instead – so you could elaborate on yours.

“I can't let you do that in good conscience.”

You did nothing to explain yourself.

“Might I ask why?” He was almost convinced the disappointment in his voice was palpable.

“Felicia can't maintain the castle on her own – you know that more than anyone else. We need someone accomplished to stay here when I'm gone, and make sure everything keeps running like it's supposed to.” Your voice was tired and slow, but he still couldn't keep himself from getting angry at it.

“The castle doesn't need redecorating in the middle of war,” he said. The both of you were surprised at the edge in his tone, and it shocked you momentarily into silence. This was the voice he used for strangers meddling in his affairs, not you.

“It's more than that Jakob. Food needs to be delivered to the mess hall for the injured, stocks need to be sorted – medicine needs to be unpacked and put into the right rooms. You know this better than I do.”

“Then I'll hire more workers. This problem is not anything that can't be solved by having more hands around.”

You exhaled.  
You were stubborn by nature; he was stubborn by situation. There weren't many ways the two of you could reach an agreement.

“Jakob – we'd need someone a little more trustworthy to look after our own troops than some stranger.”

“Then we could get Gunter to do it, and have a few of our veteran soldiers help out.”

Theoretically, you could yes – but the idea still didn't sit well with you.

“It's just Jakob, what if you get hurt? You're skilled in so many ways that you're a valuable asset in almost every job available. If you got hurt, or worse – I don't think the castle would function.”

His nose almost turned up at the hypocritical nature of your sentence and he uttered his next words with almost no forethought.

“The issue is identical from my point of view.”

He was winning the argument, and it wasn't frustrating you as much as it was stressing you out.  
You wouldn't die easily. You'd proven that the many times that you went out to battle and came back well and alive. Jakob however, would be more than eager to take fatal hits meant for you on any occasion. Even now, you could see his warm blood trickling through his chest and onto the cold mud – and feel the pressing blunt edge of the guilt that came about from knowing your face was the last he'd ever see.

Your fingers were fidgeting with the covers, so he gently placed his hands upon yours.  
You stilled.

“I still believe your hands would do more good holding this castle up than throwing daggers.”

There was a gentle pull on your skin as his fingers tensed around yours.

“But Lady Corrin, what good are these hands at all if they can't protect you?” He asked.

His arms were outstretched in front of him, and his soft and clean fingers were holding your calloused palms.  
He was distraught; that much anyone could tell from the slump in his shoulder or the pained furrow in his eyebrows.

The question struck you dumb, because although responses were coming to you quickly – hundreds of sentences about how Jakob was underestimating himself, or basing his worth on you alone – you felt Jakob would not listen to a word of them.

To him, his skin and bones moved only for you, and the meat in his muscles was your property.

“They are good because they are part of you, Jakob.” You said, but you could tell your words fell short by the way his expression curved out of a more revealing character.

“And because they can do good for others,” you said – but even those words did not satiate him.

The little light that was left of the day peered in through the holes in the curtains like a lazy bear, preparing itself for sleep. There, where the thatched fabric did not quite meet up, the light of an object millions and millions of miles away looked on into the room as if it were a closed box, tired and slow and unsure like the moments before a first kiss.

“Does it never strike you that as a butler, I don't care for the well-being of anyone that isn't you?”

As a butler, as a man: it was irrelevant.  
It was the overall message of both his duty his personal volitions that there was only one person was worth looking after, and through all of the years he'd spend loving you and denying it – they'd become intertwined so closely he could not untangle them if he wanted to.

“Then your poor interpretation of your duties is to blame. As a butler, is it also your responsibility to be concerned with everyone I need to look after.”

Jakob bristled inwardly.  
That was a lie.

He was hired, as a butler to be protective of only the well-being of the person he was supposed to be looking after. It was annoying him, more and more now, that you were so intent on trying to tell him otherwise.

“My station mandates I only care for you. There are no words you can say that will convince me otherwise.”

You looked saddened, disappointed. Thoughtful but meandering into a gently frown: the only negative expression you'd worn since the war began.

“However, my station also requires that – above all else, I follow your orders. If you so wish, I have to look after all your followers the same way I'd look after the royal family.”

Now you were almost smiling. An even slighter curve in expression, a soft plush at her eyes from her cheeks. The happiest smile he'd seen on you in a long, long time.

“Thank you, Jakob. I understand you're not happy remaining at the castle, but I appreciate you understanding my reasons.”

“If you'd kindly wait, Princess, I hadn't finished.”

Interrupting royalty? He hadn't committed such sins since they separated from the rest of the royal family.

“Even with all these conditions, looking after you is still my only priority.”

It hurt him to see you wear that thoughtful frown again. The one that was synonymous for all the expressions hidden behind it – that you did not want your soldiers to experience.

“I see it every day, clearly on the faces of everyone you talk to, or lead, or cook with, or serve, and it is because of this that I can not be convinced otherwise. Everyone depends on you.”

He'd started gesticulating a little. His usually stoic arms swaying backwards and forwards.

“And Princess, since your obsession (if you'll excuse the crude wording) of providing for everyone else grows bigger when war and dark times are on us, I see you provide for yourself less and less every day. You can not realise that at the end of the day, you're the lifeline everyone is connected to.”

The light dimmed, and it framed Jakob's stray hairs and unfurled clothes like a halo. His shadow cast a softer darkness on your cheek, as you watched him. Unmoving. Judging.

“This is why it is only by protecting you that I can provide the best protection for everyone else.”

“I am not in need of protection, Jakob,” you spat back – but even before you were done your butler knew exactly why you were wrong.

“Princess I see you die right in front of my eyes. With every passing say, you express yourself less and less. You lose yourself as a person and become a symbol - or a statue that other people can look up to and think, 'that's our beautiful Lady Corrin. The one that holds her face regardless of circumstance. The one that can get half her thigh ripped off in battle and look only a little disgruntled because of it.'”

Beautiful? Ah, to hell with it. He'd be surprised if you hadn't deciphered the romantic aspect of his intentions many years ago.

“But worst of all Princess, you're becoming a symbol to yourself. You're overestimating the limitations of your own body and emotions. You see a battle and think to yourself: 'I won't die', but do nothing to stop yourself from dying. 

You weigh your own well-being as so light of an issue you're simply ignoring it – as if it was something ethereal., or untouchable.

I want to make it crystal clear to you Princess, it will catch up to you. Even now, you refuse to admit how weak your body is – dreaming of battles that would finish the little strength you have left before I could even snap my fingers.

And that would be it, for everyone's dear Princess Corrin.”

Jakob was done. He's tried to the best of his ability to pour his entire heart out into the spiel, and despite his frequently deficient articulation – he thought he expressed himself in the best way anyone else would have, given the situation.  
Now was the time to wait and gauge your reaction.

Sometime during his speech he noticed, you'd placed your face into your hands. Your eyes, cupped by your palms, and your breathing slow.  
Heavy.  
Laboured.

Almost immediately in reflex, he wanted to reach out and pull your hands away, so he could see your eyes.

He did not.

Instead, he waited like this for a while, almost admitting to himself that he hadn't succeeded; that despite it all, you were still too concerned with your image to let him in, and at this point there was little he could do.

But there was a hiccup.

A sniffle, a small blow from your nose.

You pulled your hands away from your face.

Jakob lurched in, bringing his arms around you and knitting his fingers on your back. You too, returned the gesture – by burying your red and mottled face into his chest and weeping.

Crying like a baby. Like something not befitting of your age, but very befitting of your situation.

“It's good. You've done well,” Jakob whispered into your ear, and you cried out even louder.

“I'm so sorry Jakob,” you mumbled through your snotty nose.

“I'm so sorry.”


End file.
